


A Twist of Time

by Brego_Mellon_Nin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 13 Going on 30 AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst with a Happy Ending, Be Careful What You Wish For, Developing Relationship, Fluffy Ending, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Life Lessons, M/M, Magical Accidents, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Being an Idiot, Time Skips, What Will Happen If You Stay On Your Current Path Fic, making amends, possible future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4571685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brego_Mellon_Nin/pseuds/Brego_Mellon_Nin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Stiles couldn’t help but wish none of this supernatural shit had happened. Life had been so much easier back when the most he had to worry about was whether or not he’d get roughed up in lacrosse practice or what stunt to throw in order to win Lydia’s attention for a brief, precious moment.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Stiles forgets to be careful what he wishes for…</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Twist of Time

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** No, I don’t own Teen Wolf. I know, disappointing, right?
> 
> This work was written and posted for my own, and the reader's entertainment. Therefore I do not give anyone associated with Teen Wolf, (be it PR, production, the writers, the crew, the cast, press teams, etc.,) permission to extract excerpts from this story in order to be read aloud or shared publicly. I also do not give any third party websites, (be it Goodreads, ebooks-tree, etc.) permission to take what I have written and post it on their sites. Furthermore, I wish for my works to remain only where I have posted them, so they may be enjoyed and read amongst fans and nowhere else.
> 
> Many thanks and kisses to my pre-readers: Dragontattoo75, SimplyMatt and nmydreamz. You are da best, lovelies! <3

 

 

**A Twist of Time**

**~**

 

 

 

“Hey, so which Avenger would you fuck?”

 

The question startled a laugh out of Stiles as his date, Sean, winked.

 

“Um… Well, I’d have to say Tony Stark, but-”

 

He was cut off when Sean screeched to a halt, throwing an arm out in a soccer mom move.

 

“Stay back, Stiles.” Sean’s voice was steely and alarmed.

 

Never being one to obey orders, Stiles pushed forward until he had a clear field of vision, his gaze searching the alley they were walking along. He spotted the problem right away. Derek was dragging a bloodied, half-unconscious Isaac along, not looking too hot himself, decorated in claw marks and shirt ripped to tatters.

 

Stiles could feel the anger bubbling up. Why did this always have to happen when he was successfully pretending his life didn’t involve werewolves and blood and broken bones on a daily basis? He’d been pathetically single for _so long_. Then he finally met a nice, human guy and, of course, he couldn’t just get one fucking day without a supernatural shitstorm.

 

He ignored the way Sean was tugging on his sleeve, hissing at him to stop staring and come along. Pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing deep, Stiles waved his free arm around.

 

“What the fuck, Sourwolf? Can’t you take him to Deaton? I’m busy here.”

 

Shooting Stiles a glare - totally ineffective at this point, really - Derek grunted as he hefted a drooping Isaac up. “He’s still taking care of the problem and I need help to clean this up while Isaac heals.”

 

Sputtering, Stiles gestured wildly, almost smacking his date in the face. “Why don’t you go to Scott’s, then? I’m sure Melissa is better qualified!”

 

Derek growled and Stiles’ temper flared. He launched forward, smacking a hand onto Derek’s chest. “Don’t you dare growl at me, you caveman. I’m on a date here, and I would like to avoid this shit for just one night. So just go, all right? Go!”

 

Sean squeaked from behind Stiles and when he whipped his head around, he followed his date’s wide-eyed gaze, locked onto Stiles’ hand. Which was bloody from his brief contact with Derek’s chest. Great! Fucking fantastic. Snarling, Stiles turned and found a relatively clean part of Derek’s ripped shirt to wipe off the blood.

 

“Um…” Sean’s voice wavered in a manner Stiles knew to be just short of panic. It said a lot about his life, that he was now able to ascertain an almost-stranger’s panic level from one, wobbly word. “I’m good. I need to get up early tomorrow anyway, so I’ll, uh… I’ll call you, Stiles.”

 

Spinning on his heel, Stiles tried to follow his fleeing date, but a hand snagged the back of his shirt, so his attempt to call Sean back was strangled in his throat. Before he could fight free, Sean had disappeared around the corner and even if Stiles caught up to him, what would he say? How could this clusterfuck _ever_ be explained in a way that wouldn’t end with any sane person heading for the hills?

 

A sour frustration spread through Stiles, forming a tense knot in his gut. Would he _ever_ manage to have a successful date? He’d spent too many years obsessed with Lydia. When he got over her, he sort of had a thing for Derek for a while - who didn’t? Just look at him! But that hadn’t gone anywhere since Derek nipped it in the bud as soon as Stiles had even approached the subject.

 

Derek’s sharp voice startled him into awareness again. “Stiles! Some help here? Those fairies turned out to be hostile after all, and I need to go help Deaton.”

 

The rage exploded so fast Stiles didn’t get a chance to censor himself. All his anger spilled over in a poisonous stream.

 

“No! What the fuck is your problem, Derek? I’m not your personal slave! If you can’t even keep your own betas from being gutted, perhaps you should think about hiring a nurse to help with this shit. I was kinda hoping tonight would end with at least a hasty handjob or something.”

 

Derek sneered. “So getting laid is more important to you than the pack? Are you really that desperate?”

 

Sucking in a shocked breath, Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you even try guilt-tripping me, Alpha wolf. I’ve worked my ass off helping you! Can you blame me for wanting a single fucking night of _normal_? Is that desperation to you?”

 

Isaac’s eyes dragged between the two of them, worry edging his features.

 

Growling in frustration, Stiles carded a hand through his hair, disrupting the carefully styled spikes. Derek watched, a scornful curl of his upper lip his only answer. The casual dismissal hit a sore spot with Stiles and before he could even think about what a monumental mistake it was, he threw the words in Derek’s face. The ones he knew would hit the hardest.

 

“No worries, Sourwolf. I’m not desperate enough to fuck a hunter, so you don’t have to worry about someone setting the loft on fire with you all in it!”

 

The effect was instantaneous. Derek reeled back as if Stiles had whacked him in the face with a wolfsbane laced bat, his grip on Isaac going slack enough for the injured werewolf to slide halfway to the ground before he managed to grab two fistfuls of Derek’s shirt.

 

Regret set in immediately, flooding Stiles’ senses. He wanted to take the words back, wipe that shocked, _hurt_ expression off Derek’s face, but his entire body seemed to be frozen. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

 

Having struggled to his feet, Isaac wrapped a hand around Derek’s arm and pulled.

 

“Come on, Derek... I’ll heal fine with some rest,” he wheezed. “You don’t need to listen to this.”

 

The glare Isaac directed at Stiles burned like acid on his skin, filled with repulsion and disappointment. Stiles couldn’t help but feel like he deserved every bit of it. It’s not like he didn’t like Derek, and he’d been so angry on his alpha’s behalf when he learned what Kate Argent had done to him. There was no excuse for throwing it in his face like this. None at all.

 

He was disgusted with himself, feeling bile rise in his throat when he thought about what he’d done. Derek’s betrayed expression seemed burned onto his retinas and as the nausea surged, he bent over and expelled the contents of his stomach onto the pavement, chest heaving. When he managed to get upright again he was alone in the alley.

 

Exhaustion set in, along with the beginning of what felt like a massive headache, so Stiles sighed in defeat and walked the rest of the way to the Jeep. He drove home in a daze of guilt and bypassed the leftovers his dad had set out for him, heading to his room and throwing himself on the bed.

 

Before he passed out, he slapped himself across the cheek. “Idiot!” He needed to go talk to Derek first thing tomorrow, _if_ the Alpha would deign to give him a chance to apologize instead of disappearing into the shadows, to glare at him from a hiding place.

 

Sometimes he couldn’t help but wish none of this supernatural shit had happened. Life had been so much easier back when the most he had to worry about was whether or not he’d get roughed up in lacrosse practice or what stunt to throw in order to win Lydia’s attention for a brief, precious moment.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

In the state between asleep and awake, Stiles stretched, enjoying the feel of the luxurious sheets caressing his back. A few moments later his brain came back online and he realized he didn’t own any sheets even half this nice.

 

Eyes snapping open, he took a quick survey of the room, instantly on alert, adrenaline pumping. His surroundings were completely unfamiliar. Light and elegant, the whole room was like a display out of an exclusive designer catalogue. Every color carefully matched the decor. Subtle, but still impressive. The huge king-size bed he was on looked like it had cost a small fortune alone.

 

All of a sudden, Stiles found it hard to breathe. His lungs seemed too small, refusing to take in enough air. His vision blurred, and as he was preparing himself for the oncoming panic attack, the door to his right swung open, revealing an immaculately dressed and rather exasperated looking Lydia.

 

“Stiles! I’ve called once already. Get up or you’ll be late for work. You promised to take overtime so we can install that new pool this summer!”

 

Her eyes weren’t filled with the reluctant fondness Stiles remembered. They were dull and emotionless, like he wasn’t even worth her time. Unless he brought in some cash, apparently.

 

As she marched into the big walk-in closet, Stiles was busy gaping. What the everloving fuck was going on?

 

He was no closer to the answer when Lydia emerged, hauling out a pair of dress pants on a hanger.

 

“Here, wear these. They make your ass look good and you’ve got that meeting today, to secure Mrs. Halloway’s account.”

 

With that, she bent down to peck him on the lips and then rushed out of the room, leaving a faint trail of some undoubtedly overpriced perfume.

 

Stiles’ heart was beating a mile a minute in his chest. As he tumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, he’d glimpsed when Lydia walked past. He closed and locked the door behind him, trying to control his breathing. Was this a very elaborate dream?

 

He pinched himself.

 

Nothing happened, except for the slight throb in his arm.

 

With a sigh, he leaned over the sink to take a look in the mirror. What he saw nearly made him faint. It was his face, that much was clear, but at the same time it wasn’t. He had a smarmy looking goatee and crinkles around his eyes. Upon further inspection, he noticed that he looked… well, older. Grown up. He had obvious stubble and worry wrinkles on his forehead. Holy _shit_!

 

He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to cry or laugh hysterically. Perhaps both.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Eventually, Lydia dragged him out of the bathroom, tapping her foot impatiently while he dressed, and then forced a cup of black coffee in his hands.

 

“I don’t know what’s up with you today, but you better not mess up!” Her voice was sharp like the crack of a whip as she pushed a few buttons to open the garage doors. Stiles stilled in shock as he laid eyes on the dark purple Camaro parked beside a sky blue Mustang.

 

A garbled sound escaped him. “I didn’t know Camaros came in that color.”

 

She gave a haughty sniff and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “They don’t, you simpleton. I had it customized, remember? Honestly, Stiles.”

 

He would have snarked back at her, he really would, but his gaze had caught on the gold ring adorning her hand. She was married? When had that happened?

 

A sense of dread crept up his spine and he looked down to see a matching ring on his own hand. What the hell was happening?

 

He might have been in love with Lydia for seven years, but he got over that shortly after the kanima debacle and had since suspended his ten-year plan. Lydia was still all kinds of awesome, but more like a sister than a potential wife. This felt wrong somehow, like someone had taken his earliest childhood fantasies of happy-ever-after and dumped him right in the middle of a live enactment.

 

Lydia didn’t appear to have any more patience in this reality than she’d had back home, so Stiles wisely hurried after her, walking to the mustang and getting into the passenger seat, struggling to keep a hold on his blossoming panic. He needed to find Deaton or Scott; anyone who could help with supernatural mishaps. This had to be something paranormal. Hadn’t Derek mentioned something about fairies?

 

They exited the automatic gates and Lydia sped off down a street lined on both sides with expensive villas. Clearing his throat, Stiles turned to Lydia. “So, have you talked to Scott recently?”

 

Rather than turn her attention from the road, Lydia arched a perfect eyebrow. “Scott who?”

 

Swallowing hard, Stiles croaked, “Scott McCall?”

 

Lydia shook her head.

 

“Derek? Isaac?”

 

Frowning, Lydia shifted in her seat to glance at him from the corner of her eye. “Those losers we went to highschool with? I haven’t seen any of them in years. They stayed in that awful little hell hole while we got out and got rich.”

 

She smiled at him, but it seemed superficial and it made Stiles’ stomach roll. How could he abandon his friends? How could Lydia, for that matter?

 

“What about Jackson?”

 

The car swerved and before Stiles could even give a single squeak in surprise, Lydia had pulled over and turned to point a manicured finger in his face. Her eyes were wild and her expression spelled doom for anyone daring to cross her. “We do not talk about him, _ever_! You promised me, Stiles! If that stupid douche hadn’t gone and gotten himself killed, I would’ve been living in luxury with waiters to cater to my every whim, and had a private chauffeur.”

 

She spun away, breathing hard, her hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping her from shattering into a thousand pieces. From the outburst Stiles had just witnessed, it might well be true. While her words had only mentioned the material benefits, the emotion behind them was real. She seemed to be devoted to Jackson, douchey as he was, in every version of reality.

 

The Lydia he knew would never have assaulted him like that, verbally or otherwise, and it was a terrifying experience. He was about to suggest he get out of the car when she faced the road again, her features melting into the neutral, emotionless mask she’d worn all morning.

 

“Sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. You’ve tried so hard to take care of me, I know that. Now, I’ll drop you off at work and go get my nails done, and later we’ll go get some of that sushi you like so much for dinner, ‘kay?”

 

Still reeling, Stiles merely nodded. When the fuck had he grown fond of sushi? He knew Lydia liked it, but he’d always gagged at the idea of eating raw fish. Had he changed his habits simply to make his wife happy? To fit into her idea of a perfect husband?

 

He was starting to feel sick when it occurred to him that whatever had happened, it seemed as if he’d taken on the task of becoming a substitute for the man Lydia had wanted to spend her life with.

 

Jackson.

 

Stiles had to breathe deep for two minutes to avoid vomiting in the car. It was a nice car, and didn’t deserve to get sullied.

 

They drove in silence until they reached a tall building with a gleaming glass front. It gave the impression of housing very important people. The parking lot was lined with meticulously groomed bushes and colorful flowerbeds, not a single leaf out of place, anywhere. It all screamed of Lydia’s involvement.

 

The big sign beside the paved entryway proclaimed _‘Stilinski & Martin - Attorneys at Law’_ in elegant script.

 

Lydia leaned over, placing a quick kiss on his unresponsive lips before shoving a briefcase in his hands. “Go on. I’ll be back for the noon meeting. I know you can’t run this office without me.”

 

With a wink and a smile she was gone, the gleaming Camaro disappearing in the dense traffic.

 

Stiles was about ready to faint, but he’d never given up before and he certainly wasn’t going to now. With a fortifying breath, he walked to the doors and pushed his way through.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was barely ten o’clock before he was overcome with the temptation to throw himself out the window of his fancy, seventh floor office.

 

An older, but clearly not wiser Greenberg was standing in front of Stiles’ desk, a manic expression on his face, babbling about some case he was working on, throwing around terms Stiles would swear he’d never heard before. He watched Law & Order as a kid, but clearly this was another level altogether.

 

As the day progressed, it was becoming more and more evident that he’d need to get the situation fixed. He wouldn’t last two minutes in a meeting without exposing himself as an imposter, and the nagging feeling of wrongness was increasing with every nervous glance from his secretary. Had he bullied her into a quivering mess or was Lydia the one responsible? Even if he was not her ideal life partner, she would never accept someone else eyeing what was hers, and certainly not these bootlicking interns acting as if Stiles was the solution to all their life’s problems. He had no doubt that even with the threat of Lydia’s wrath, all of them would bend over a desk and offer themselves up within two seconds, if he hinted at it.

 

He felt dirty and disgusting, like he needed about a dozen showers to rid himself of the shame.

 

How had he fallen so far?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Being the boss had its perks, though. Stiles just put on a determined face and marched to the elevator undisturbed. There was a button for the basement car park, so he pushed that one. As soon as the doors opened, a guy in uniform stood up from his seat.

 

“Do you need me to take you somewhere, Mr. Stilinski?”

 

Stiles fought down a growl. The poor chauffeur wasn’t to blame for his boss’s sudden change in attitude.

 

“No thanks,” he said, squinting at the name tag on the man’s shirt. “I’m gonna drive myself, Emmanuel. Can you point me to an available car?”

 

Looking perplexed, the chauffeur nodded and turned to fetch a set of keys from his desk. “Right this way, sir.”

 

Stiles was then led to a fancy looking Mercedes. He sighed inwardly. Was his older self really this shallow? Had he just dumped the Jeep the second he could afford something better? And by better, he meant approved by Lydia.

 

Stiles shuddered, sincerely hoping he could escape this alternate reality, or future, or whatever it was. He was _not_ pleased by the choices his other self had made.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He blew past the Beacon Hills city sign at noon with his heart in his throat. What if he’d been so neglectful that his dad had managed to eat himself to an early death by junkfood? What if he wasn’t on speaking terms with his dad anymore?

 

He turned down the familiar street and heaved a breath of relief when he saw the house right where it was supposed to be, the cruiser in the driveway. When he got closer however, there were obvious changes from what he’d remembered. The house seemed to have gotten a makeover of proportions - windows and doors were new, the front lawn seemed to have been in the clutches of a landscaper. There was a sparkling new Mercedes, much like the one Stiles was driving, parked in the open garage. From the looks of it, he’d say it had never been out on the road.

 

There was no way his dad would’ve been able to pay for all those things with a sheriff’s salary. Stiles cringed. It seemed like his way of taking care of his dad had dwindled to merely sending loads of money and gifts. Once again, the nausea was back. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel, just breathing for a few minutes until he felt steady enough to get out of the car.

 

Before he could dissuade himself, he marched up to the front door and rang the doorbell. He didn’t have his keys - if he even still _had_ a spare key - and as long as he couldn’t be sure how his relationship with his dad was, he thought it better to err on the side of caution.

 

It wasn’t long before he heard muted steps from behind the door. His heart skipped a beat and then thundered in his chest. For a second, he contemplated fleeing the scene, but he was not a coward, God dammit!

 

The door opened to reveal his dad, looking almost the same as he did when Stiles had last seen him. His hair was grey and the wrinkles had multiplied, but other than that he looked fit and well. Aside from the pale-faced and wide-eyed expression that had sprung up as soon as he laid eyes on Stiles.

 

“Son?” That single, hesitant word was enough to undo Stiles and he launched himself into his father’s arms, hugging him tight.

 

While hugging back, his dad let out a worried, “Are you all right?”

 

Stiles nodded into his father’s shoulder and sniffled. “Missed you.”

 

His dad tensed and then loosened his hold, stepping back out of Stiles’ embrace. “Forgive me for being blunt, Stiles, but that seemed surprising, given it’s been over 5 years since I’ve seen you in person. I only ever get your, uh… _presents_.” The last word came out sort of strangled, with a complementary handwave in the direction of the new car and fancy lawn. The undercurrent of bitterness was clear as day.

 

Breathing had suddenly become difficult and Stiles stumbled back, bracing a hand on the door jamb as he struggled to get in a decent mouthful of air. He refused to have a second fucking panic attack in one day!

 

A hand clamped around his arm and dragged him towards the kitchen. “Come on, son. Sit and I’ll get you a glass of water. Try to relax.”

 

A moment later, a glass was placed in front of him on the table and his father’s hand returned to rub circles on his back, the way he’d always done since Stiles started having panic attacks after his mother’s death. The effect was the same now as back then. Stiles felt safe and cared for, and slowly calmed down enough to get sufficient oxygen to his lungs.

 

“I think I’m going crazy,” he wheezed.

 

A small smile appeared on his dad’s face. “What else is new?”

 

The familiar banter made the remaining tension bleed out of Stiles and he laughed, slumping back in his chair.

 

“God, I’ve missed you.”

 

His dad smiled, but it looked strained. “I’ve missed you, too.”

 

The silence dragged on for a few minutes until Stiles had his breathing under control. He sipped the water and cleared his throat.

 

“I’m sorry, Dad. For not being a good son, for not coming to visit… I don’t… I’m not sure what happened.”

 

The Sheriff sighed and plopped down in a chair opposite Stiles.

 

“I’m guessing that being in constant danger and lying to me about werewolves was kind of a burden.”

 

Shocked silent, Stiles’ head snapped up. He searched his father’s gaze, but there was only a slight disappointment, no anger, no sadness.

 

Finally his voice came back, if somewhat squeaky and shrill. “How do you...? _Who told_?”

 

His dad shrugged.

 

“A few months after you left, a rogue omega came through town and he seemed to think it would be fun to kill all the pet dogs within city limits. It was a huge mess, and in the end I caught the pack fighting the guy in the alley, behind the animal clinic. The situation was, um… _hairy_ , so Scott let me in on the secret.”

 

Faced with his dad talking so casually about werewolves, Stiles couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d been so adamant not to tell him back when he first got involved. He worried about his father getting into something dangerous or him becoming a target simply by association, but being the sheriff was a rather perilous job as well. With the knowledge about the supernatural and some basic instructions about how to handle an encounter, in addition to backup from the pack, his dad would’ve been much safer. Plus the added benefit of not having to lie all the time. Stiles would really have liked to avoid that and the strain it caused in their relationship. Why had he been such an idiot about this?

 

Even with his mind whirling in several different directions, Stiles noticed his father’s concerned gaze. Pulling himself together and wiping the shocked expression off his face, Stiles nodded once and threw himself into the questions burning on his tongue.

 

“Are you a part of the pack now?”

 

The Sheriff shook his head. “No, I’m in the loop, but not actually a part of the gang, so to speak.”

 

“How’s the situation at the moment? Any new terrors invading the territory?”

 

His dad snorted. “Nah, it’s been quiet for a few years now. The pack is more settled and Scott and Derek managed to form some alliances, so the troublemakers mostly stay away now.”

 

A peaceful Beacon Hills was a strange concept to Stiles and he felt unsettled. The pack had done well, even without him. Perhaps even _because_ he’d been gone? Derek had always hinted that having a human member made the pack vulnerable.

 

“Oh... Yeah, probably helps not having me to make a mess of things.” Damn his voice for shaking.

 

His dad’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not true!”

 

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did I become this asshole who sends people gifts instead of actually spending time with them?”

 

The Sheriff blew out a long breath. “I honestly don’t know, Stiles. After Jackson died, you sort of focused all your energy on consoling Lydia and when she wanted to leave, you just… went with her. I think you felt guilty, somehow. I didn’t understand… still don’t, for that matter.”

 

“Did I at least say goodbye?”

 

His dad snorted. “Sort of. You left a note, telling me to get rid of the Jeep and to not worry.”

 

Stiles cringed. Damn, that was worse than he’d feared.

 

“So, I’m guessing everyone else moved on?”

 

“Yeah,” the Sheriff nodded, “Scott lives next to the vet clinic with Isaac. The old Hale house was rebuilt and Derek and Peter live there now.”

 

Fidgeting, Stiles waited for his father to elaborate, but the Sheriff pressed his lips together and shifted, like he was uncomfortable.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Son, I don’t think it’s right for me to tell you their stories. They should decide for themselves if they want you to know. You should make rounds, catch up with them. But don’t be surprised if they are reluctant to talk. You left without telling anyone and rebuffed any attempts at contact afterwards.”

 

Stomach churning, Stiles cleared his throat. “Right, that’s fair.” He tugged on his hair, struggling not to give in to the overwhelming urge to curl up in a corner and cry. No matter how tempting, it really wouldn’t help.

 

Instead, he forced himself to straighten up. “I can’t change how I’ve behaved in the past, but I am going to change it, starting now! It’s impossible to explain what happened, but you could say I woke up this morning with a whole new perspective on things.” Not the whole truth, but as close as he was willing to go before getting this mess sorted out. “Can I come back tonight for dinner? Maybe sleep over on the couch?”

 

The Sheriff opened his mouth to speak, but Stiles cut him off, nerves getting the better of him. “If you don’t want me here it’s totally okay, though! I will stay at the motel then. Don’t feel like you have to, just because I’m your son-“

 

His dad’s raised hand halted his babbling and even though he looked weary, there was a hint of the old exasperated fondness Stiles had always evoked, back in his childhood. Seeing that made hope bloom in his chest.

 

“You’re welcome to stay, Son. And I’ll have dinner ready by seven.” Stiles was treated to the Sheriff stare, and even though it made even hardened criminals spill the beans, it was too reminiscent of happy times to make Stiles uncomfortable. “Now, go talk to Scott and whoever else you decide to try to patch things up with.”

 

Nodding, Stiles darted in to give his dad another hug before walking back out to the overpriced, if slightly dirtied, car.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Standing before a heavy oak door, staring at Scott’s name next to Isaac’s by the door bell, Stiles couldn’t recall a time he’d felt more nervous. He was sure Scott should have been able to hear his thundering heartbeat from inside the house, but either he didn’t, or he didn’t care.

 

Stiles raised a trembling hand and pushed the little white button, listening to the echoing chime behind the door. Too much time passed before the door unlocked and opened, revealing a shocked Scott. For a handful of long moments they only stared at each other, but then Scott’s features hardened and his eyes narrowed.

 

Before Scott could kick him to the curb, Stiles burst into action. “I’m so, _so_ sorry, man! I don’t know what happened, I don’t even know who I’ve been the last years! That guy sucks, but it wasn’t really me. I’d never just leave like that! You know that, Scott. I stayed on the playground with you when all the others went in because it was windy. I came back for you every time you fell behind in gym class. You’re… you’re my best friend! I - I can’t explain what’s been going on, but I’m gonna do better, I swear to you!”

 

Realizing he had to give Scott a chance to digest the word vomit he’d just received, Stiles clamped his mouth shut, wringing his hands nervously.

 

Scott was back to looking shocked, his jaw twitching in that way it used to any time he was thinking really hard. With his ability to tell truth from a lie, he had to be confused by Stiles’ rant, but as always Scott was fighting valiantly to get through it all.

 

“Well, you did send me a text saying you wanted out of pack business when you went off to college. So technically you didn’t just leave… I guess you could have handled it better. The others certainly think so.”

 

Scott sighed, stepping back and pushing the door open wide. “Come on in.”

 

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Stiles rushed at Scott, stopping short before coming into contact, hands outstretched. Scott eyed him for a moment, but then opened his arms and drew Stiles into a brief hug. While it wasn’t even close to the same as before, it was more than he deserved. Stiles smiled, doing his best to ignore the moisture in his eyes.

 

“Thanks, man.”

 

When he stepped into the cozy hallway, he could immediately tell that Melissa had been in charge of the furnishing. There were several Delgado family heirlooms placed in between the pieces of newer furniture. Scott lead the way into the kitchen, fetching a can of Mountain Dew from the fridge and setting it on the table in front of Stiles.

 

“I don’t know if that’s still your favorite, but…” Scott shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

 

Stomach still simmering with guilt, Stiles grabbed the soda can like a lifeline and hurried to reassure Scott.

 

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours. He fiddled with the tap on the now empty can, looking down to avoid the assessing stare from across the table, but in the end he couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore.

 

“How are the others?”

 

“You mean how’s the pack?” Scott tilted his head, like he’d be able to figure Stiles out better that way.

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Well, Isaac works at the clinic with me. In fact he should be here soon for his lunch break. We eat together when we can, since it’s usually too busy for us to get much family time in. It’s more fun on the weekend, when Allie is home during the day as well.”

 

Stiles recognized the name as the third person on the nameplate, on the door. “Allie?”

 

Scott’s whole face got this goofy expression, nearly glowing with pride. “Yeah, she’s our daughter. Almost seven years old now.”

 

A weird mix of elation and disappointment surged through Stiles’ gut. Scott had a kid! If Stiles had been here, he would’ve been an uncle. He would’ve spoiled Allie rotten and taught her all his old tricks. When he spoke, his words came out wobbly. “Your daughter?”

 

Scott smiled sadly, like he too was mourning the memories that could’ve been. “Yeah… Isaac’s and mine. Allison was the surrogate, if you can believe that. She’s married to some dude from a hunter family and moved to Miami, probably to chase out-of-control werewolves in sunglasses and board shorts.”

 

Stiles laughed, enjoying the sight of his best friend wearing that big trademark puppy grin.

 

“I’ll bet!”

 

As the quiet stretched, the smiles slid off their faces. Scott looked serious, worry lines clearer than they’d been even back when the supernatural side of Beacon Hills was trying to kill them on a daily basis. “I’m glad to see you back, and if you plan on staying and making amends that’s great, but don’t expect the others to be as lenient as me. Isaac was seriously pissed at you, and Derek… well, it’s not my place, but it was rough for a while. If you only plan on sticking around for a few days, you might want to avoid that particular reunion.”

 

Wincing, Stiles shrunk back in his chair. “That bad, huh? What happened?”

 

Scott glared at him and it occurred to Stiles that he was supposed to know.

 

“I, ah… Well, the explanation is long and complicated, but I really do not remember, okay?”

 

Before Scott could do more than give him a disapproving look, the sound of the front door opening reached them. Scott jerked upright, his eyes shooting towards the hallway and back to Stiles in rapid succession. His expression went tense and he muttered, “Brace yourself.”

 

With his mouth agape, Stiles turned on the chair and was greeted by the sight of an angry Isaac. A young girl with adorable curly brown hair was gripping his hand, staring at Stiles with wide eyes.

 

Isaac’s gaze snapped from Stiles to Scott and back again before he snorted and rolled his eyes. “You’ve already forgiven him, haven’t you? You seriously have the softest heart of anyone I know!”

 

Scott grinned sheepishly. “At least he hasn’t lied to me at all so far.”

 

The little girl, Allie, nodded and let go of Isaac’s hand to take a few steps closer to Stiles. “Lying is bad. My dad’s have always said so!”

 

Fighting the tears in his eyes, Stiles smiled at her. ”Yeah, Allie, your dad’s are very clever.” He felt like an iron fist had reached into his chest and kept squeezing his lungs, forcing air out and not allowing him to take any in. To his right, Scott shifted closer, probably recognizing the signs leading up to a panic attack. Stiles held up a hand. He didn’t deserve the comfort.

 

Taking a deep breath, Stiles counted in his head before exhaling. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale… Exhale.

 

He was brought out of his routine by a small hand landing on his knee. He looked up, right into dark, big eyes that could’ve belonged to his best friend at age six. This was his daughter though. _Scott’s_ daughter. Scott’s _daughter_!

 

“Are you okay, Mister?”

 

A wet laugh escaped Stiles. He looked up, wanting to cringe when he saw the worry etched into Scott’s face and Isaac’s reluctant sympathy.

 

“No, Allie, I’m not. I’ve been very bad and I don’t know how to make it better.”

 

She pursed her lips and one of her eyebrows popped up. “Well, you just ‘pologize, silly.”

 

Stiles doubted that would solve all of his problems, though it would be a start at least.

 

“I’m very sorry guys, I really don’t know what came over me and I don’t wanna think that way again, ever! I just… I behaved horribly and I wish I could turn back time and do it differently.”

 

Isaac looked skeptical but frustrated, like he couldn’t figure out how there was no lie evident in Stiles’ words. Before either of them could say anything, a rather pointy finger poked Stiles in the arm. He flinched back, rubbing his arm as he came face to face with an angry Allie. “You were bad to my dads! That is not nice!”

 

Her attempt at a threatening glare was basically the equivalent of a basket of hissing kittens and Stiles had to concentrate to not coo at her. That would not go over well, he assumed.

 

“You’re right, sweetheart, it isn’t. Which is why I am apologizing, like you said.”

 

She didn’t seem to have anything more to say and turned to Isaac. “Dad, can I have pancakes for lunch?”

 

Isaac looked up at Scott and they seemed to communicate through glances and tiny twitches, kind of like the way Scott and Stiles had been able to when they were kids. It made Stiles’ insides ache.

 

After a few moments, Isaac nodded and reached down to grab Allie’s hand. “Yeah, we can make pancakes. Chocolate or banana?” She started to chant, jumping up and down on the spot. “Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate!”

 

With an indulgent smile, Isaac clapped a hand over her mouth and swung her over his shoulder, heading off for the cabinets in the corner. Allie squealed all the way.

 

Scott cleared his throat, looking a bit shifty. “It’s not that I don’t want the whole sappy reunion, but this lunch break is all the time we will get together before late tonight, so could we maybe catch up later?”

 

That was Stiles’ best friend right there. Already back to being polite, despite the fact Stiles – or his alternate self, at least - had treated him like he didn’t exist the last decade or so.

 

“Yeah, no worries, man. I should probably go apologize to Derek as well. That’s the right thing to do… Though, how likely is he to rip my throat out with his teeth? On a scale from one to ten?”

 

Isaac chuckle-snorted with his head inside one of the cabinets, “Oh, about a fifteen?”

 

Scott lifted his shoulders and folded his face into that _‘what did you expect?’_ expression he’d perfected back when he and Stiles had run from bullies every day at school.

 

Resigned, Stiles thunked his head down on their table. “Right. Well, tell my dad where I went if he suddenly comes looking, all right?”

 

“Sure,” Scott said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Stiles got up and followed Scott to the door, turning back and muttering, “Thanks. Thank you, Scott. I’ll uh… I’ll be back soon, okay?”

 

Scott waved as Stiles turned and walked down their driveway to his car, cringing when he realized how dirty the Mercedes had become. He got in, ignored his phone as it kept lighting up with unanswered calls from Lydia and drove off towards the preserve. He had a bad feeling about this visit, but he knew he had to go. Even if Derek did attempt to rip out his throat, or other vital parts, he had to be able to say that he tried.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

From the moment he caught sight of the road leading up to the Hale property, it was obvious that things had changed. There was a mailbox and a small flower bed with ornamental brass house numbers placed amidst a patch of tulips. The previously unkempt dirt road was now a proper driveway, grass cut on either side, tracks well used.

 

As he turned the car off the asphalt onto the gravel, Stiles tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He felt like he was too late. For what, he wasn’t sure, but the feeling was urgent and made his pulse rise and his palms sweat.

 

He rounded the last bend and almost slammed the brakes in his shock. Where the ruins had stood, there was now a beautiful two story house built in yellow bricks. In the front, a large porch led down to a big lawn that encompassed the existing trees. On the side of the house was a vegetable garden, full to brimming.

 

All in all, it looked absolutely idyllic.

 

Turning into an available parking spot, Stiles blinked away tears. He had no right to be this emotional. It was his own fault he was in this mess, or rather his alternate self, but he wasn’t even sure what difference that distinction made at this point. All the people he came in contact with had lived in this reality, where Stiles had just up and left without a care a decade ago. Their feelings didn’t diminish simply because he suddenly didn’t remember what happened.

 

As for Derek, well, even though it was a long time ago in this reality, Stiles clearly remembered the hurt he’d caused last night, back in his other life. He’d never wanted to be the reason Derek was in pain. Lord knew Derek had been dealt the shittiest hand ever. Stiles liked Derek and he wanted him to be happy. For a while, he’d even hoped that he could be a part of what made Derek happy, but since his cautious attempts at flirting had been firmly rebuffed by Derek, Stiles had backed off. No means no, after all.

 

Getting a grip on himself, Stiles exited the car and turned to face the house. A glinting, like sun reflecting off crystal, caught his eyes and he squinted, just able to make out a figure on the porch. As he started up the path, also lined by tulips, his stomach swooped and then promptly jumped back up until he felt like he might choke on it. Leaning on the wooden railing with a casual air, a glass of what was probably expensive wine in his hand, was none other than Peter Hale. He was older, for sure, but hadn’t changed his style much in the intervening years. He even still had the smarmy looking goatee. His ice blue eyes followed Stiles’ every step, calculating and considering, while at the same time holding a degree of amusement. No doubt he was eagerly awaiting the chaos that would ensue.

 

Before Stiles was even halfway to the house, two furry kids came shrieking around the corner in a tangle of windmilling arms and wayward braids. They screeched to a stop, freezing like deer in headlights, their wolfy features melting off their faces along with the color, until two pale girls around four and six years of age were staring at Stiles with fearful eyes.

 

Peter straightened up, apparently ready to defend the kids from the intruder, even if he knew said intruder wasn’t a threat of any kind. Barely a second later, a deep, familiar growl echoed from inside the house and both girls straightened up, puffing their chests out and glaring at Stiles with defiance. It would seem that they had the utmost faith in Derek’s protective abilities.

 

Stiles didn’t have a chance to even open his mouth before Derek came bursting out the door, all but ripping it off its hinges. He pushed the girls behind him and only then looked further for the source of the disturbance. When his eyes landed on Stiles, he went as pale as the kids peeking out behind his considerable muscles. Like his uncle, Derek hadn’t changed much. There were a few grey hairs, but other than that, he was pretty much how Stiles remembered him, though perhaps with a few more laugh lines.

 

Everyone seemed frozen while Stiles walked the remaining distance until he was standing right beneath the steps, leading up to the porch.

 

Struggling to find a way to begin, Stiles watched as Derek’s features darkened with each passing moment of silence. It was so unfair that his alternate self had fucked things up so badly and he was now left to deal with it, not even knowing exactly what he’d done.

 

“Derek,” Stiles pleaded, his voice already breaking and wobbling, “I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been an ass, but please let me explain, okay? It’s not-“

 

He was cut off when a beautiful brunette emerged from the house, a flour-covered apron tied around her waist. “Derek, hon, is everything all right?”

 

Stiles’ voice disappeared as his throat constricted and what felt like an iron fist blew a hole through his chest. Derek was somebody’s _hon_? Stiles’ gaze snapped between Derek and the unknown woman, his observational skills immediately latching onto the fact they had matching gold bands on their left hands. All of a sudden Stiles found himself gasping for air, his vision blurring.

 

He hadn’t even been creepily devoted to Derek, like he had with Lydia. He never made a ten year plan on how to woo an alpha werewolf. Still, the revelation of Derek being married somehow burned through his soul, leaving a trail of charred hopes and dreams he hadn’t even been consciously aware of. He thought he might have whimpered, but he wasn’t really sure.

 

He felt arms around him, half carrying him until he was deposited in a chair, a mumble revealing his savior to be Peter. “Really, Stilinski, you always have to make a dramatic entrance?”

 

Saving his energy for tamping down his fourth fucking panic attack of the day, Stiles ignored the comment.

 

As his vision cleared, he looked at the people gathered around him. Derek was standing off to the side, brows furrowed in anger. The pretty brunette – Derek’s wife! – was absentmindedly petting the hair of the two girls standing on either side of her, concern in her eyes. Through his lingering daze, Stiles noticed that she had clean, uncalloused hands. She probably wasn’t responsible for the garden and flowerbeds, then. Moving his eyes to the last person on the porch, he saw Peter was back to leaning on the railing, radiating calm like this was a usual Tuesday night; nothing special to see.

 

The woman moved closer to Derek, cupping his face in her hands. “Hey, Derek, calm down. We’re all safe. I’ll take the kids in to set the table and you and your… friend can talk.” She placed a soft, familiar kiss on Derek’s lips before starting to herd the girls towards the door. Now that Stiles got a closer look, without them being wolfed out, there was an obvious resemblance to Derek in their features.

 

This was Derek’s _family_.

 

It was everything Stiles never knew he wanted, but at the same time it was now too late and if Derek was happy, he would never want to get in the way of that.

 

When the door clicked shut, Stiles sent a glare at Peter, who was casually studying his fingernails. As if either of them would forget he was there, listening in.

 

Sighing, Stiles folded his arms across his chest. “Do you mind, Creeper Wolf?”

 

Peter smiled and inclined his head, the picture of politeness, which made him seem all the more terrifying in Stiles’ opinion, and swirled around, trotting off the porch and towards the tree line, whistling along the way. Fucking weirdo!

 

Turning back, Stiles drew in a deep breath, preparing himself for a lot of growling and threats of bodily harm.

 

Nothing happened though.

 

Derek stood frozen, lips pressed together and chest lifting in rapid succession. If he didn’t know better, Stiles would have said he was on his way to a panic attack, but that never happened to the wolves.

 

As Stiles opened his mouth to apologize yet again, Derek had finally managed to unglue himself from his spot and was up in Stiles’ space so fast it nearly made him fall on his ass from the shock. He was clearly no longer used to the ninja skills of the werewolves.

 

“What the _hell_ are you doing back here?” Derek hissed, his voice dripping venom.

 

Stiles’ mind was racing, fumbling for a suitable answer, but he was still not sure what he’d done. The comments he’d thrown at Derek back in the alley before all this crap happened, didn’t seem like something Derek would hold a grudge over for more than a decade. Had Stiles managed to fuck up even worse or was it the leaving without an explanation or goodbye?

 

“Derek, I’m _so_ sorry. I- I don’t know what happened, what I did. It’s a long story, but please know that I didn’t mean to hurt you. Whatever I did, I’m truly sorry!”

 

Scoffing, Derek averted his eyes like he couldn’t even stand to look at Stiles for one more second. “Sorry doesn’t cut it!”

 

“Please, what happened? I need to understand!” His voice was pleading and he should feel pathetic, but considering the cost if he bailed now, Stiles couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

 

Derek sneered. “What’s there to understand? I considered you pack, thought I could count on you, but you bailed on us and I didn’t even get a chance to…” Derek’s voice trailed off as he huffed and shook his head. “Never mind.”

 

Stiles was still trying to figure out what hadn’t been said when Derek sort of twitched and turned towards the house as if he was preparing to walk away, leaving Stiles standing there with his heart ripped to pieces. Not that Derek knew that last part.

 

“NO! Please! What?”

 

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Stiles had launched himself after Derek, arms outstretched, though he’d been clever enough to not actually grab at an agitated werewolf.

 

Derek halted, his shoulders hunching up until they were practically covering his ears. After a few seconds he slumped, his breath whooshing out like a deflating balloon. Slowly Derek turned back to face Stiles. His eyes were too bright and it shocked Stiles to his core. Derek Hale with tears in his eyes? Not a sight he ever thought he’d see… Neither was it a sight he’d been hoping to see.

 

“I had finally begun trusting someone. My wolf side recognized you as a pack mate and started to bond with you, even if I didn’t really realize at first. I felt safe around you, but then you just… left. Fuck, Stiles. _How_ could you just-“ He cut off on a choked snarl. “After all that crap with Kate I never thought I’d ever manage to entertain ideas about another relationship, but somehow you barged into my heart the same way you barged into my life. I wanted to tell you, but you were only seventeen. I… I decided to wait. I didn’t wanna be like Kate, taking advantage of an underaged boy.” Derek scrubbed a hand over his face, snorting. “Of course then we stopped talking for a while, after that night in the alley and when Jackson died... You latched onto Lydia like no one else mattered, Stiles. How do you think that made us feel? Made _me_ feel? I was already beginning to…” Derek shook his head, as if he was still trying to convince himself that none of it mattered. Stiles’ heart ached, literally _ached_ , and he could feel the tears brimming in his own eyes. He could have had this if he hadn’t been such a monumental ass!

 

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Derek cut a quick look to the house before meeting Stiles’ gaze again – all traces of emotion wiped from his face. “I’m with Jennifer now and we’re happy. It’s too late. Go back to wherever you came from. Go live your new life, it’s obviously better than anything we could offer.”

 

Feeling utterly crushed, eyes burning, Stiles managed a jerky nod and backed up a few steps, readying himself for leaving. Would this be the last time he laid eyes on Derek? The thought that he might not see Derek again was enough to have panic clawing at his throat, the moisture in his eyes finally running over and burning tracks down his cheeks. Perhaps he should protest, try to explain some more, but it seemed hopeless and he clearly wasn’t welcome here. Besides, he didn’t fancy having another breakdown in front of Derek and his family.

 

He was turning around to head back to his car when the sound of small feet running caught his attention. A hand grabbed onto his trouser leg, tugging. When Stiles looked down, one of Derek’s daughters was hanging onto him, eyes big and somehow even more beautiful than her father’s.

 

“You are Stiles?”

 

Confused, Stiles squatted down to her level. “Yes.”

 

The girl was wearing a necklace with letters, spelling _Isabell_ , surrounded by pink princess crowns and small howling wolves. Her eyebrows furrowed, face scrunching up in a judgmental scowl. “My dad talked about you. He said you broke his heart. Why did you do that?”

 

Stiles had to bite his lip to stop himself from sobbing. Despite everything, Derek had talked about him, even told his daughters about him. Sneaking a glance at Derek, who was obviously struggling to keep his expression blank, Stiles cleared his throat. Not that it mattered. His voice still came out sounding like he’d used sandpaper on his vocal chords. “I’m sorry, little one. I didn’t mean to. I was so stupid.”

 

The kid nodded, doing her best to look wise beyond her years. Even through his misery Stiles could acknowledge she was adorable. She continued, “Okay, well, he said he loved you anyway, so you must be important, right?”

 

Stiles choked, nearly crumbling from the force of his guilt and disgust at himself. In spite of his efforts, a sob burst out of him; he sounded broken, even to his own ears. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Derek inching closer, looking hesitant and vulnerable, emotions not hidden for once.

 

The door opened again, revealing Jennifer and their other daughter. For a moment, Stiles feared she’d come out to yell at him for disrupting their happiness and for basically getting into an argument with her husband about their feelings for each other. She just looked sad though, not even trying to get in between them. It sort of made sense. If Derek had told his kids about Stiles, his wife must know too. While it didn’t really make Stiles feel better, it was a small comfort that he was still important enough to mention.

 

Getting back to his feet Stiles tried to smile, but knew it looked forced and devastated. Jennifer’s eyes were locked on him, full of sympathy, but without the scathing pity Stiles had also expected to see there. At least he knew Derek was with someone good, someone with a degree of compassion that could counteract the tendency to blame himself for everything.

 

Stiles cleared his throat and wiped tears off his cheek, taking a deep breath before facing Derek again. He needed to do this right, even if it was gonna hurt like hell. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. Sorry for the choices I made. I wish more than anything-,” his voice broke, and he had to swallow a couple of times before he could continue, “I wish that I could go back, that I hadn’t wasted my chance. I’m sorry Derek. I… I’ll leave now and I hope you will be happy. Ever after and all that. You deserve it.” Trying his best not to notice the stricken expression on Derek’s face, Stiles turned to Jennifer. “Take good care of him, he’s a great man. You’re lucky to have him.”

 

Jennifer nodded, smiling sadly.

 

He wasn’t able to keep his front up any longer, so Stiles stumbled off the porch, feeling like he had just ripped his heart out and left it on the floor at Derek’s feet. It hurt to fucking breathe!

 

As soon as he was safely inside the car he sped off, flooring it down the driveway. Halfway to the main road he thought he saw a figure standing almost hidden in the trees, piercing blue eyes and stupid looking goatee, but he couldn’t be sure since his vision was blurred with tears.

 

Once back on the road, he swerved left, driving in the opposite direction of home. He couldn’t face his dad like this and Scott would no doubt be consoling, but Stiles didn’t want comforting. He didn’t deserve it. He headed for an old service road that led into a public area of the preserve. It hadn’t been used as long as he could remember and he hoped that was still true in this time.

 

Luckily nobody was in sight, and Stiles forced the Mercedes to drive through mud and grass along the neglected path. When the car inevitably got stuck and refused to move another inch, Stiles slumped forward in his seat, breathing hard.

 

Nothing seemed to matter now. He’d hurt so many people. Derek hates him. His dad and Scott might have missed him, but both had done well for the last ten years without him.

 

Frustrated beyond words, Stiles started punching the steering wheel, snarling in anger. He relished the pain that served as a reminder of how badly he’d screwed up, and also as a way to relieve the boiling pressure inside of him. How could he have been this stupid? He was thrown into this universe where he’d apparently made just about every wrong decision possible, and then left himself to salvage what small pieces were left of his life.

 

Laying a last punch on the poor Mercedes, he yelled, “Fuck!” His head was pounding and he wanted to go home! He wanted to go home _so_ badly. He wanted to fix the wrongs he’d done or had been about to do. He _needed_ to.

 

Exhausted, he leaned back in the seat, raising his hands to massage his temples in an attempt to relieve the headache. He sat there for a few minutes before a heavy weariness crawled over him, smothering him in its grasp. Just as his vision started to go grey around the edges, no doubt from lack of oxygen, he thought he heard a sorrowful howl filtering through the trees. He didn’t get a chance to make sure, however, as the world started spinning and everything faded to black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Awareness crept in bit by bit until Stiles jerked upright, heart pounding. He was on his bed in his room, everything back to the way it was before he made the time-skip. Without bothering to get dressed, he sprinted out the door and all but jumped down the stairs.

 

He raced into the kitchen startling the Sheriff, who was reading the newspaper, coffee mug in hand.

 

“You okay there, kid?” His dad’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead as a bemused look was aimed at Stiles’ old Captain America pajamas bottoms, the only article of clothing he was currently wearing.

 

Throwing a quick glance around, Stiles assessed the situation – no expensive car in sight, no renovations and definitely no fancy garden. Safe to say, he was back in his own timeline.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just, uh… forgot I had to meet Scott, so I gotta go!”

 

Stiles ignored his father’s yelling about going out in public in his pajamas, hurrying into the Jeep and racing off towards Deaton’s with tires squealing. He needed to find out if the vet knew anything about fairies transporting people between timelines.

 

He found Deaton getting the examination room ready for the day’s patients, whistling to himself.

 

“Hey, Doc. Do you have a second?”

 

Deaton waved him in, and Stiles immediately launched into the story. When he’d explained the situation, and asked whether the fairies could have caused his predicament, Deaton seemed to mull it over, but eventually shook his head.

 

“Fairies wouldn’t spend so much of their energy on something that isn’t to their benefit. Besides, they left right after the confrontation with the pack last night, so they are spreading mischief somewhere else. My guess is that your spark caused this. Sometimes, a person’s magic can flare up, unbidden. Strong emotions can cause an outburst or a backlash.”

 

Stiles’ stomach dropped, and all of a sudden he felt cold. “So it wasn’t even real?”

 

Deaton’s gaze sharpened.

 

“Who said it wasn’t? Your magic showed you how the future could turn out, should you stay on your current path. In order for your magic to take action, something in you must’ve felt you were heading in a wrong direction, Stiles.”

 

Sighing, Stiles let his head drop into his hands.

 

“Like abandoning my dad and turning my back on the pack?”

 

A corner of Deaton’s mouth turned up a fraction, into a hint of a smile. “Indeed.”

 

A heavy silence reigned for a few minutes, before Stiles fought his way through the guilt. “So, how did I get back to my own time?”

 

Deaton’s expression seemed to be yelling _idiot_ , but Stiles ignored it. He’d recently been thrown into a different time or reality or whatever, so he felt his distraction was more than justified.

 

Eventually, the vet sighed. “Once you realized your mistake and figured out how to circumvent it, your magic reversed its intervention.”

 

Stiles frowned, nodding and trying to ignore the increasing restlessness. He wanted to see Derek now, but he needed to have this sorted before he went to the loft. He sure as hell wasn’t getting Derek involved before he was positive that the time skipping was over and he wasn’t going to be sucked back in.

 

“Yeah, I found my mistakes. They were practically thrown in my face the instant I woke up. I won’t repeat those.” He cringed a little, continuing. “I mean, I’ll inevitably make other mistakes of course, but I’ll avoid these ones.”

 

In response, Deaton gave him another one of those almost-smiles. “I’m sure there’s still plenty of mistakes to be made. Hopefully, you will learn from them all.”

 

The door opened in the front room and the vet perked up, calling out, “I’ll be right there, Mrs. Cobb.”

 

He turned back to Stiles, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

 

“I’m confident you won’t have any more problems with this instance of time skipping, Mr. Stilinski. If something else pops up though, or you want to talk about controlling that spark of yours, you are welcome to return.” Deaton paused halfway out the door and added, “After hours.”

 

With a smirk he was gone, leaving Stiles to let himself out the back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stiles ran to the Jeep and threw it into drive, peeling out of the parking lot with his mind whirling along at top speed.

 

His heart felt like it was in his throat and all he could think of was Derek and the things he’d said to him in the alley. He had to sort this out, make sure to prevent the gap between them from widening. According to alternate future Derek, he had already had feelings for Stiles at this point, so there was nothing else to do but throw himself out there.

 

When he reached the loft he didn’t even take the time to park properly, just toppled out of the car and sprinted towards the building. He passed the elevator, too hyped to wait for the old thing to crank its way down, jumping the stairs two steps at a time. As he screeched to a stop in front of the door to the loft, his breathing resembled a freight train in action.

 

Before he could knock, the door was slid open, a worried Isaac staring at him from the other side. “Stiles? What happened? Who’s hurt?”

 

Stiles was desperate and words were too difficult. He pushed past Isaac with a choked whine and ran for Derek, who was on the couch, poised to deal with whatever emergency came his way. Except for Stiles, it would seem.

 

Apart from his eyes widening, Derek didn’t react at all as Stiles closed in on him. Perhaps he believed Stiles intended to stop at a reasonable distance, but if so, he was disappointed. Stiles crashed into him at full speed, throwing his arms around Derek’s neck, already crying, hisshoulders shaking from the sobs. Even though he could hardly utter intelligible words, they flowed from him in a torrent he wasn’t able to stop. “I’m sorry, Derek. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…”

 

Derek’s hands came up to awkwardly pet him on the back and then gripped his arms, attempting to pull him back. Stiles instantly panicked, trying even harder to keep his hold around Derek. His whole body shuddered, and those _embarrassing_ , terrified cries broke free from his throat.

 

Without Stiles noticing, Isaac seemed to have approached because his voice sounded close. “Stiles, what’s the matter? Is this about last night? I mean, you were an absolute dick, but this seems kinda over the top.”

 

Stiles tried to answer, but wasn’t able to get any words out. He made do with shaking his head and then burrowing into the crook of Derek’s neck.

 

Derek took a sharp inhale, probably in response to Stiles getting so close to his jugular, and promptly froze. “Stiles. Why do you smell like me? Like me and… someone…” He sniffed again and Stiles had a quick flash of two beautiful girls with hazel eyes and dark, wavy hair. “Someone who’s part me?”

 

Despite his fitful breathing, Stiles forced out the words. “Kind of… a long a-and unbelievable story…” Letting Derek push him back a little, Stiles wiped at his face, making sure to keep his other hand firmly clasped in the fabric of Derek’s sweater.

 

Isaac flopped down next to them and lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “Try us.”

 

Slumping forward, still half on top of Derek and clinging like a frightened baby koala, Stiles started telling them about what had happened. By the time he reached the end of the story, his breathing had calmed down a good deal and his tears dried up. Isaac and Derek, on the other hand, were looking rather pale at this point.

 

Sniffling into Derek’s neck, Stiles mumbled, “I understand if you don’t want me in the pack, if you don’t want anything to do with me, but please, if I have a chance, don’t let me waste it. _Please!_ ”

 

For a second, silence reigned; then Derek and Isaac moved at once and Stiles was smothered in a tangle of limbs and whining werewolves.

 

“We’re pack. That’s not gonna change because you were an asshole. We already knew that,” Isaac said, his voice thick, either from talking around fangs or from actual emotion. Stiles didn’t know and didn’t feel the need to either, as long as they kept cuddling him.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

 

After a while of no one saying anything, Isaac reached out and poked the remote, turning on the TV. There was an old rerun of Friends and they settled down again, listening to Phoebe try to teach Joey how to speak French.

 

At some point they must have dozed off, because Stiles woke in the setting sun’s warmth to find himself covered by a Derek-blanket, snoring adorably while maintaining an iron grip around Stiles’ waist. Isaac was nowhere to be seen, so the sneaky bastard probably thought he’d leave them alone for the awkward discussion of possible feelings and whether or not Derek would be willing to pursue a relationship.

 

Heaving a sigh, Stiles pet Derek’s head, carding his fingers through soft hair until Derek stirred. Stiles curled his fingers to scratch at his scalp.

 

“Hi.”

 

Derek’s eyes fluttered. “Hey.”

 

Stiles decided to jump right into the deep end. “So, uh, do you maybe wanna go on a date? With me?”

 

Stiles licked his lips, trying to crush down the fear of rejection. He wasn’t certain how Derek felt, not really. Maybe he didn’t even like Stiles that much, or maybe he was only interested in a platonic friendship. Stiles would take platonic over not seeing Derek, but it would still suck, now that he’d figured out how much he wanted this. Wanted Derek.

 

Lips pressed together tight, Derek pulled back, lifting himself off of Stiles and moving to sit in the armchair at an appropriate distance.

 

“Stiles, I- You just had a major shock and you’re emotional. It’s completely understandable that you’d react like this, but I don’t think you actually know what you want…”

 

The hollow, punched-through feeling returned in Stiles’ chest with a vengeance and he struggled upright and grabbed at the skin over his heart, digging his nails in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

 

His voice, when it came out, sounded like someone was squeezing his windpipe too hard. “You think my feelings aren’t real?

 

That thought hurt. A lot.

 

“No! No, that’s not what I meant, Stiles. I just… I think we should take a few days until you’ve worked through some of this. You might feel different.” Upon seeing Stiles open his mouth to protest, Derek held up a hand. “Or you might not. But I need to know, okay? I don’t do these things lightly, not anymore… I can’t.”

 

Stiles had to pause then. Derek looked at him pleadingly, and after giving it some thought, Stiles nodded.

 

All the tension in Derek’s body seemed to melt away and he sent Stiles a tentative smile.

 

Grinning back, Stiles asked, “How much time do you need? Cause I needed to get my lips on you yesterday.”

 

Derek snorted, his eyes rolling in a familiar gesture that made warmth bloom in Stiles’ stomach. He watched as Derek stood up, stretching so his shirt rode up and exposed a sliver of abs – no doubt on purpose – and grabbed his running shoes by the door before turning back. “If you still want to give us a try by then, you can pick me up next Saturday at six p.m.”

 

With a smirk Derek was gone, leaving Stiles to gape at the open door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After dinner with his dad, Stiles poured a shot of whiskey and placed it within the Sheriff’s reach.

 

“So, I have something to tell you…”

 

His dad’s eyebrows had never resembled Derek’s murder brows as much as they did then, but Stiles wanted to change his course. He took a deep breath and started at the beginning, telling his father about the night he dragged Scott into the woods to look for a dead body.

 

Several hours and another shot of whiskey later, Stiles was back in his room, grounded for the foreseeable future, but with a clean conscience. He’d just crawled under his blankets when Scott crawled through his window, already healed from where the Sheriff had thrown a knife at his face when he’d shifted to prove Stiles’ story.

 

“Dude, it’s so awesome your dad knows now. Whenever something weird comes up, he can ask us or Derek to take a look. I already told him he could ask Derek about wolf stuff, since he knows a lot more, being born into it and all…”

 

Stiles started to nod, but then blanched. “Oh shit. Dad’s gonna talk to Derek?”

 

Doing his adorable confused puppy impression, Scott threw himself on the bed next to Stiles. “Why is that a problem?”

 

Cringing, Stiles tried his best to plaster an innocent expression on his face. Judging by Scott’s instant shifting to suspicion, he didn’t do a good job of it.

 

“Um, well, I might have asked Derek out on a date? Kinda?”

 

He waited for the explosion, for Scott to launch into a speech about how Derek was not to be trusted, how he was not good enough for Stiles, but nothing happened.

 

Scott tilted his head. “So? Your dad likes Derek, I don’t think he’ll mind if you keep the sexy times on the down-low. Y’know, since you’re still underage.”

 

Baffled, Stiles gaped at his best friend for nearly two minutes straight.

 

“That’s all? No preaching about the evils of alpha werewolves and human squishiness?”

 

Frowning, Scott shook his head as he kicked off his jeans and scooted under the blanket. “No, man. Derek’s awesome and I’m totally happy for you. Now, let’s go to sleep, I’m fucking exhausted.”

 

Smiling at his doofus best friend, Stiles settled back against his pillow, switching off the light. “Sure, buddy.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Putting his dogged determination to good use, Stiles spent the next ten days painting the old yard fence and mowing the lawn for his dad and some elderly neighbors, to earn some extra cash in order to book a table at the most expensive restaurant in the town. No doubt Derek couldn’t care less, but it was the principle of the matter. If Derek wanted to know if Stiles was sure, he was going to leave no doubt!

 

On the big day, Stiles went to the florist to get some flowers, ignoring Scott’s skepticism and Isaac’s derogatory scoffing. He left shortly with a beautiful bouquet of tulips. The florist had tried to persuade him to take some roses and chrysanthemums, but Stiles remembered future-Derek’s garden and insisted on tulips.

 

When he handed Derek the flowers, he’d stared at them for so long Stiles was starting to fear that he’d made a mistake already. He was about to yank his offered hand back and throw the tulips down the staircase when Derek reached forward slowly, taking the bouquet. The corner of his mouth curled up in a half smile and he raised his head, shimmery eyes meeting Stiles’.

 

“Tulips were my mom’s favorite… Thank you, Stiles.”

 

Before Stiles could utter a word in reply, Derek stepped up close and sealed their lips together. Stiles took a few seconds to get up to speed, but then he threw himself into it and Derek had to push him away when they both started to lack oxygen.

 

Stiles was so happy he didn’t even bother complaining when Derek insisted on paying at the restaurant.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

One date turned into two, which turned into ten, and suddenly they’d been going out for two months. Derek had even been over for family dinner a couple of times. The Sheriff hadn’t even bothered with the threatening father routine. No doubt he knew it wouldn’t do any good, or he figured with Derek’s past, he had no cause to fear for his son’s innocence.

 

Stiles drove Derek home after a trip to the movies, and for once Derek didn’t turn around to kiss him like usual. He stayed in his seat, his expression resembling a weird mix between determined and indecisive.

 

“Is something wrong?” Stiles leaned over to place a hand on Derek’s thigh, staying closer to his knee than _other places_. They hadn’t gone there yet, and Stiles figured Derek wasn’t ready for them to go that far.

 

Derek’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “No, no! Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking… Are you allowed to stay over, or…”

 

Stiles gaped, watching as a pretty blush spread across Derek’s cheeks, even coloring his adorable ears.

 

Coughing awkwardly, Derek pushed open the car door. “Never mind, forget I said anything.”

 

Stiles wanted to throw himself after Derek and got caught in his still fastened seatbelt, his half formed protests choked to a garbled noise. The effect was satisfying though, because Derek stopped and turned back, his blush receding a bit when he saw his boyfriend all tangled up, fighting to get free.

 

Derek reached over and somehow found the release button straight away, getting Stiles out of the trap he’d created.

 

Stiles pouted. “I had a dramatic scene planned and everything, and now it’s ruined. There’s no way to recover from _that_.” He threw a disgusted look at the seat belt.

 

He still counted it as a win, because Derek chuckled and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Do you want to come upstairs?”

 

Hopefully, Stiles throwing himself at Derek was answer enough, because his mouth was too busy to manage actual speech.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After their six month anniversary, they had a run in with some rogue omegas and when they got back to Derek’s apartment, they didn’t make it further than the couch before they had to get their hands on each other. The reminder of how fragile their world was, made them desperate. Of course they forgot to lock the door, so Isaac walked in right when Stiles screamed Derek’s praise to the skies. Isaac fled with the speed of lightning, but evidently wasn’t too shy to share details because the pack suddenly had a disturbing amount of lewd jokes to throw at them.

 

Scott started teasing them, obviously forgetting who he was dealing with, because Stiles was unconcerned at the wild stories he came up with and merely corrected the false assumptions in excruciating detail. Later that evening, Stiles received a text that simply said: _Sorry I overshared back when I was with Allison_.

 

Not at all deterred by Stiles’ declarations about their bedroom adventures, Peter started trying to hang around the apartment, sometimes hiding upstairs, until Stiles finally had enough and kicked him out with a big boot. One he had soaked in wolfsbane.

 

 

* * *

 

They made it to their one year anniversary, despite the occasional argument and misunderstanding as well as a few bouts of screaming matches between Stiles and his dad, concerning colleges.

 

In the end, Stiles went to the local college and completed the required classes to get accepted into the police academy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

On their fifth anniversary, they celebrated in the renovated Hale house with both their names on the mailbox. It wasn’t built exactly as it had been in Stiles’ trip to the future, but this was a combination of his and Derek’s ideas and efforts and he loved it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

On their sixth anniversary, Stiles received his diploma from the police academy and signed the paperwork to start his probationary field work at the Beacon Hills Police Department. Before the ink was dry, the Sheriff started calling him Probie, with a disturbing amount of glee, and Stiles grumbled about revoking his access to any channel that showed NCIS.

 

Derek distracted him by getting down on one knee and proposing with a bouquet of tulips and a beautiful, antique silver band, engraved with triskeles on the outside and the name _Talia_ on the inside.

 

Stiles cried like a baby and he wasn’t even going to be ashamed about it. Derek Hale just proposed to him and if that wasn’t a valid reason, well, one didn’t exist!

 

Besides, Scott cried just as much when he got the news.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

On their seventh anniversary they got married in their garden, with the whole pack, the Sheriff, and Melissa present. Scott cried during his best man speech and Stiles snorted champagne out through his nose when Lydia whacked him over the head with her purse for running his hands through his hair, ruining the carefully styled mess she’d spent hours creating.

 

Life was good.

 

 

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and please consider leaving kudos and/or a comment :)


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